The Day a Jar of Pickles Saved the World
by MayFairy
Summary: Doctor Who AU. Emma Swan could never have expected borrowing a pen from a mysterious stranger sitting next to her in a test to accidentally lead to her helping said stranger stop the world from ending, but it's becoming increasingly obvious that the universe is a bizarre place. 5th in an out-of-order ficlet series about Doctor!Regina and companion!Emma. First meeting.


**Finally, their first meeting! Earliest chronologically and likely to stay that way because anything that happens before they meet will probably be shown in flashback form.**

 **Doctor!Regina has been through hell at this point, hence why she's so incredibly salty. Plus, we can't have character development without this kind of starting point. And yes, Emma is a bit younger than in the show and has had a _slightly_ less crappy life than canon Emma. It does show. **

* * *

Emma Swan has never been much of an academic. Her decision to enrol in university wasn't something her foster sister Ruby and their Granny had seen coming, but Emma actually enjoys herself and her classes for the most part and has so far gotten by with reasonable grades.

At twenty four years old, she has about half a decade on most of the people in her classes, but that doesn't bother her. It does however mean she is surprised when a woman who has to be at least thirty slides into the seat next to her the day of the biology mid-term. Emma could swear she has never seen her in the class before, but then it isn't as if attendance is mandatory, and who is she to question this stranger's place here?

That should really be the end of it, but said stranger is a little bit incredibly gorgeous and it's more than a little distracting. It isn't until Emma forces her gaze away and rummages in her bag that panic fills her chest.

"Oh god," Emma groans, looking at her pretty neighbour, "I've forgotten a pen. This can't be happening. Do you have a-" The woman reaches into her pocket and hands her a pen without so much as glancing in her direction. Her gaze is intent on the lecturer at the front of the room. "Thanks. You just saved my life."

The older woman pauses and finally turns to look at her, one hand reaching up to push a short strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Hm. In that case, can you tell me what you think of the professor?"

"Not a whole lot of strong opinions," Emma says, shrugging, "He seems to know his stuff. I mainly just wish he wouldn't apologise or laugh awkwardly every time he farts. Like, it's a constant problem, he'd be better off just ignoring it, you know?"

"You don't say?" The brunette looks back at the lecturer like what Emma has said about him is the most interesting thing she's heard all day. She can't imagine why, given that he's about the most stock-standard middle aged overweight white guy she's ever laid her eyes on.

"I don't think I've seen you in class before," Emma continues, giving her a tiny smile.

The object of her admiration is still not really paying attention. "Is that right? You must have a mediocre memory."

"Not really, and I'm sure I'd remember someone as beautiful as you," Emma says, with more daring than she even knew she possessed until a moment ago. The brunette turns to look at her with more scrutiny and no small amount of confusion. The expression smooths out after a moment and is replaced by something more thoughtful.

"Is there anywhere nearby I could get my hands on some vinegar? Or any kind of acetic acid," she asks Emma, who blinks.

"Uh," is all she can say before they're all told to be silent and the test papers are handed out.

The questions, thankfully, are mostly okay and Emma is able to answer them without straining too much of her brain. A sneaky glance at the mysterious brunette reveals that she seems far too relaxed, her pen moving across the paper quickly but also somehow with a bizarre laziness. Like the questions are child's play.

Maybe she's a genius. That could explain her not needing to go to class. Emma has to wonder if it would be too forward to ask what she's got planned after all this, and whether she actually has the nerve to do so.

When the test finishes, Emma makes sure her paper is headed in the right direction and lets out a sigh of relief as she grabs her bag. But when she looks to her left, the stranger is gone already. And Emma still has her pen.

"Crap," Emma mutters, and scans the mass of people looking for the crown of short dark hair. She spots her heading down the steps, and Emma follows her out the same door the lecturer left out of.

She's a good fifty metres behind and with all the corridors on campus, Emma can barely keep her in sight and loses her after about a minute of sprinting. Her shoulders slump with defeat and she's about to turn and head for the carpark when she hears the low, smooth sound of the brunette's voice coming from the behind a door at the end of the hall.

Emma follows it and presses her ear against the wood.

"You _can't_ do that!" Her voice is saying, sounding both exasperated and angry. "If you activate that nuclear device underneath the university - which, for the record, I _sincerely_ doubt you've properly constructed to begin with - you'll cause the space-time rift that runs underneath this city to fold in on itself. And it wouldn't stop, it would take this whole _world_ with it."

"And I'd be able to ride the shockwave all the way out to the next galaxy," an odd, gravelly voice replies with no shortage of smugness.

"You'd sacrifice seven billion lives just for a free ride."

"Bargain."

Emma makes a face. _What the hell are these people on? Talking about nuclear devices and space-time somethings and riding shockwaves to the next galaxy, what do they think this is? Star Trek?_

"I'm going to stop you," the woman says, an edge in her tone.

"Not if you're dead."

The woman's protests are lost as she starts spluttering, becoming less and less audible through the door. The other voice is chuckling morbidly.

Emma has absolutely no idea what is going on, but on the off chance that whatever is happening inside the room is exactly what it sounds like, she can't wait a moment longer. She shoves the door open and races inside only to be met with a sight that makes her come to a screeching halt, not even hearing the door slam shut behind her.

"What the _fuck_?!"

The brunette from the lecture hall is being held up against the wall of the tutorial room by a hulking creature with sickly green skin. Its long claws are around her throat and appear to be suffocating her, but she still finds time to stare at Emma incredulously.

" _You?!"_ She exclaims, looking at her with horror. "What the hell are you doing? Get out of here!"

"You forgot your pen," Emma says weakly, because it's the only thing she can think of to say. The brunette's face is taken over by disbelief and it's hard to tell whether she's resisting the urge to laugh, cry, or start yelling.

"Keep it, and go," she tells Emma, voice much more constricted as the creature's grip on her throat tightens.

"No way, it's about to kill you!"

The creature - which is a good two and a half feet taller than both of them - turns its head towards her. Its eyes are huge and round and impossibly black. An absurdly tiny nose sits between them and underneath is a small mouth filled with pointed teeth. The cheeks are so round that they remind Emma of someone with the mumps.

"Yes, stay," it growls, "I could turn you into a snack to eat before my long journey."

Emma really _doesn't_ like the sound of that. The creature hurls the brunette at the opposite wall, and Emma doesn't have time to be worried about the crack she hears because the creature is now advancing on her.

"What is this thing?" Emma asks as she dodges around the tables to keep distance between it and her. "Also, who the hell are _you_?"

"I'm the Doctor," the woman groans from where she's slumped against the back wall and clutching her head, "And that is a Slitheen. It's going to destroy this entire world just to get home if I don't stop it."

"So, it's an alien?"

The Doctor scoffs. "No, it's from Bulgaria - _yes_ , it's an alien!"

"Okay," Emma says, gulping and dropping her heavy bag from her shoulder so that she can evade the Slitheen more easily. It's still too big and the room isn't big enough for the three of them. "So aliens are real. I'm going to file that under _freak out about later_. Later being when this alien isn't trying to kill me. How did it get into the university without anyone noticing?"

"Slitheen disguise themselves in the skin of other species," the Doctor explains, wincing as she tries and fails to get to her feet. "You're looking at your biology professor. Or rather, the alien that killed him six months ago and has been pretending to be him ever since."

Just to ring her words home, Emma trips over something and is horrified to realise it's a suit of human skin that sure enough belongs to Mr Adam Jeffries.

"That's so fucking gross," Emma says, feeling ill. "Wait, you were way too interested in him, the thing about the farts-"

"It's the gas exchange, from having to compress himself into that human suit that's two feet too small," the Doctor says, swaying on her feet and leaning a hand against the wall to steady herself, "There's a reason they can generally only hide in overweight humans. I'd already determined that he was an alien, but I didn't know what kind until you clued me in."

Emma is about to mention the thing about the vinegar, which is what she had asked Emma about next, and determine what that has to do with all this or if she just has culinary plans later. But that's when the Slitheen grabs her, by the neck like he had with the Doctor, and Emma becomes much more preoccupied with kicking at him furiously.

It's fruitless and it occurs to her that she might be about to die.

The Doctor is staring at her, clearly itching to help but unsure of what to do in the face of the sheer physical advantage the Slitheen has over them.

"I don't - I can't-" She says, looking at Emma hopelessly.

 _The vinegar_. _She knew what kind of alien this guy_ _is and she asked me about vinegar, about acetic acid._

It's difficult to talk, and it comes out more like gasping, but that's enough. "Doctor," she says, giving her a sheepish smile even in the face of mortal peril, "I really love pickles."

"What?" The Doctor asks, frowning.

For a moment, the Slitheen looks thoughtful. "You know, I never got around to trying pickles during my stay here. Perhaps I'll include them when I turn you into soup, as a gesture," he says, and Emma might have laughed if she weren't busy suffocating.

"I always have a jar of pickles in my bag," Emma manages to say before it becomes entirely impossible to speak and her head starts spinning from lack of oxygen.

But the Doctor's brown eyes have lit up like a Christmas tree and she dives for where Emma dropped the bag, rummaging through it until she pulls out the near full jar of pickles like it's the Holy Grail.

Emma has no idea what she expected the vinegar thing to entail, but she's still surprised when the Doctor simply wrenches the lid off the jar and runs up behind the Slitheen before throwing the whole contents over him.

Nothing happens at first and the edges of Emma's vision start to darken. But a few seconds later, the grip around her neck slacks and the Slitheen's whole body explodes like a teddy bear in a microwave. For a split second she feels triumph, but then she realises she is covered in sticky green goop which is all that is left of the alien impersonating her professor.

"Urgh," Emma says, making a face, "That's disgusting."

The Doctor - along with the immediate radius of tables and floor - is similarly splattered and lets out a morose chuckle. "Occupational hazard, I'm afraid." She wipes her face clean delicately and sighs upon looking down. "This was my favourite pantsuit."

Emma looks at her, then herself, and finally the floor where her pickles are lying in the green goop of the alien they helped destroy. She starts laughing and can't stop even when the Doctor looks at her like she's gone mad.

"Never thought my love of pickles would come in so handy," Emma chuckles once she's composed herself a little, and the Doctor lets out a snort of amusement. "So, what now?"

The Doctor gives her an odd look. "Now you go home. Go eat beans and pizza and watch television, or...whatever it is you people do."

"But we need to tell someone in authority," Emma insists, "If he's really got a nuclear thing underneath the university-"

"As far as this matter is concerned, _I'm_ the authority," the Doctor says firmly, "I can handle everything from here. Whoever you are, I appreciate your serving as a distraction and...supplying the pickles, but it's time for you to get back to your life and forget this ever happened."

She heads for the door and Emma grabs her bag before hurrying after her.

"Emma," she says, falling back into step with her, "My name is Emma Swan."

The Doctor comes to a stop, turning around with annoyance in every inch of her body. "I don't care. I don't care what your name is, or what you _think_ you can do to help me. The only way you can help me is to leave me alone."

"I just saved your life!" Emma tells her hotly.

"Yes, and then I saved yours, so we're even," the Doctor retorts. She's about to say something else when a beeping starts up from inside her pocket and she pulls out something that Emma knows must not actually be a sex toy but looks uncannily like one all the same.

"What's that?"

"Sonic screwdriver," the Doctor says absently, focused on the screwdriver. She fiddles with it for about a minute and it takes all of Emma's patience to not interrupt. Finally she lifts her head and blinks when Emma meets her gaze. "Oh. Why are you still _here_?"

Emma stares at her with disbelief. "What the hell is your problem?"

The screwdriver beeps and the Doctor curses under her breath in a language - or possibly multiple languages - that Emma doesn't understand.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she looks up at Emma with anger flashing in her eyes. "My _problem_? My problem is that apparently that infernal creature started the nuclear device's delayed activation the moment he realised he'd been found out. I have nineteen minutes to find and disable it or this entire world is going to get sucked into the rift in space and time that runs underneath this city, and I have some idiotic ape trying to blab at me about something and refusing to take a hint and _go home_!"

Emma flinches. But then she takes a moment to process the first few sentences. "If the whole world is in danger, and you have to disable some fancy device, are you honestly saying there isn't a remote possibility you might need another pair of hands?"

The Doctor opens her mouth to argue, only to frown and shut it again. "...fine," she grumbles, beginning to walk again, her heels clicking rapidly on the floor, "But you'll do exactly as I say, without question."

"As long as it doesn't involve anything like murder or grand larceny, sure."

"...why on _Earth_ would I ask either of those of you?"

"You just killed a guy with a jar of pickles. How am I supposed to know what you get up to in your spare time?"

Unsurprisingly, the Doctor snorts and doesn't even bother replying.

The sonic screwdriver - which is sleek and black with a glowing red tip that matches the Doctor's lipstick - can apparently trace the faint radioactive emissions from the device. They end up in the building with the biology labs, taking the stairs down to the basement. They've earned strange looks from almost everyone they've gone past thanks to being covered in green gunk, but no one actually tried to stop or talk to them, which is lucky.

On the basement level, the door says _authorised personnel only_ , and is locked. The Doctor merely smirks and points the screwdriver at it. The door clicks open. Sure enough, when they rush inside, in front of them is a machine that takes up almost the entire windowless room.

"Is this it?"

"This is it," the Doctor says, striding forward and yanking a panel open. "Okay, now, one wrong move here and the whole thing goes up, us and this whole world with it. So under no circumstances touch _anything_ that I don't tell you to, understood?"

"Yes ma'am," Emma says with a cheeky grin that goes unnoticed. "How long have we got?"

"Not long enough for you to ask me unhelpful questions."

The Doctor reaches into the wiring and works for several minutes in silence, her deft fingers unhooking and twisting and reattaching with an ease that tells Emma one thing: her previous guess that this woman is a genius had been completely correct.

 _Some idiot ape...that's what she called me. Was she just being harsh, or...is_ she _an alien too?_

Emma takes another look at the Doctor's face, which is creased with concentration. It seems impossible that someone so beautiful could be an alien, but then an hour ago Emma would have said that aliens aren't real and now she's learned otherwise. The hard way.

"Fetch me that cable cutter," the Doctor says, snapping Emma from her thoughts. Once the tool is brought to her, she's back to her work. "Alright, now, come over here and hold these two wires, _completely_ still. If you move them, this thing will explode. The fate of this world will quite literally be in your hands, so do _not_ mess this up."

"No pressure," Emma mutters, but does as she is told and tries not to let the Doctor's bleak warning freak her out too much. The matter of the Doctor's species might have to wait until _after_ they've avoided the global catastrophe.

While Emma keeps the wires in place, the Doctor opens a new panel and delves into that one. Thirty seconds later, the faint rumbling of the device cuts out and Emma sees the Doctor let out a breath of relief.

"You can let go now," she says to Emma, a hint of an actual smile curling her lips as she looks at her, "It's over. We're safe."

Emma gladly lets go of the wires and gets back on her feet. "But we surely can't just leave this thing here, right? People could find it, and ask questions-"

"I have some friends who will take care of it," the Doctor says, whipping out a phone and dialing a number, "Blue? I have something for you. University of Southern Maine. Basement of the biology building. Yes. I've sorted it but you can clean up, I've done my part. Goodbye."

She hangs up and puts the phone back in her jacket. Without so much as another glance in Emma's direction, she picks up a large board of circuitry from the floor and heads for the door.

Emma follows her out until they're outside the biology building and in the fresh October air.

"So what's that you've got there?"

"It's what he was going to use to ride the shockwaves home," the Doctor says, turning the board over in her hands, eyes alight with interest, "Tribophysical waveform macro-kinetic extrapolator. A fairly impressive one at that."

"A what?" Emma asks, making a face. "Were you just making that up?"

The Doctor smirks at her. "Hardly. Think of it as a pan-dimensional surfboard."

"Oh." Emma decides to just let it go."So...you're kind of a hero, or something," she says instead, looking at the Doctor with amazement that is incredibly belated but now coming in in spades.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it. You wouldn't be the first to say it, but that doesn't mean you're _right_. I'm no hero. I'm just...me."

"And who is that, exactly?"

Her gaze is even as she regards Emma. "The Doctor. I'm just the Doctor. I was here, I fixed things, and now I'm leaving."

"Just _the Doctor_? What kind of name is that?" Emma asks incredulously.

The Doctor crosses her arms. "The name I chose. It's important to me. Now run along. It's time for you to go home and for me to get going."

"You just saved the whole world, and you don't even even want a thank you?" Emma stares at her. "You don't even care that no one _knows_?"

The Doctor stows the extrapolator surfboard thing under her arm and starts walking towards the English department, rolling her eyes when Emma automatically follows. "What difference would that make? I know what humans are like, they panic when they see anything that doesn't fit into their tidy little perception of the world. The less they know about the things I do the better."

It's hard to argue with that. But there's something in her words, the implication of otherness that all but confirms Emma's earlier suspicions.

"You're an alien too, like that Slitheen thing," Emma says, and wonders why the hell she isn't more alarmed by that realisation.

"I am _nothing_ like that vile creature," the Doctor snaps, whirling around to glare at her, "You're more closely related to a dog than I am to him." She considers her own words and lifts an eyebrow. "Especially considering how you keep following me like a stray puppy. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Not really," Emma replies, if only because she knows it will annoy her and the irritated look on her face is priceless.

"Go home, Miss Swan," the Doctor says.

Emma's eyebrows shoot up and she feels a faint sense of victory. "You remembered my name. I thought you didn't care."

The Doctor rolls her eyes again. "I don't, Edna."

" _Emma_ ," the blonde corrects, narrowing her eyes when the Doctor simply smirks.

"Like I say, I don't care," she says, just as they round a corner and come to a halt beside a tall wooden box which is deep blue and has the words _Police Public Call Box_ written across the top.

"What the hell is this thing?" Emma asks, frowning at it.

"It's where I keep annoying humans who don't stop asking questions and won't leave me alone," the Doctor says flatly.

"It must be some kind of weird modern art thing," Emma mutters, before thinking of something much more important, "Wait, if you're an alien, do you have a spaceship?! Can I see it?"

The Doctor glances at the blue box, then back at Emma, and hides her faint amusement behind a frown. Badly. Emma's jaw drops when the penny does.

"Wait, seriously? _This_ is your spaceship? But it's _tiny_!" Emma runs her hands over the wooden panels. "Why does it look like this? Some kind of disguise?"

"Yes," the Doctor says, "Now hands off. Time to forget you ever met me and _go home_."

"You realise how ridiculous that is, right?" Emma asks. "I saw an alien today, we killed him with a jar of pickles, and now I'm outside an honest to god spaceship disguised as a weird telephone box. How can you expect me to just go home and forget about that?"

Some of the hostility fades from the Doctor's features and is replaced by curiosity. "Actually, I meant to ask. How _did_ you know about the pickles? What they would do?"

Emma shrugs. "Back before the biology test, you were asking me about vinegar after I told you about Jeffries' farts. I knew that that was how you knew what kind of alien he was, and so I figured the vinegar had to be its weakness, or...I dunno, I certainly _hoped_ so."

The surprise on the Doctor's face is so satisfying that Emma has to grin. "Oh," the alien says, softly. "That's-"

"A stroke of luck that I remembered, I know-"

"Impressive," the Doctor finishes, making Emma blink at her with shock. "I didn't...really think about it at the time." She shuts her eyes, like she knows she's about to do something stupid but is going to do it anyway. "Have you...travelled much?"

"Not really," Emma says with a sigh, putting her hands in her pockets, "I want to, someday, but it costs money, and I wouldn't have the first idea of where to go."

The Doctor looks at her and smirks. "How about outer space?"

It takes a good ten seconds for Emma to understand what she's offering. "Wait...seriously? A minute ago you hated me, and now you're asking me to come with you in your _spaceship_?!"

"I didn't hate you," the Doctor tells her, sighing, "I find you highly exasperating and I like my privacy, there's a difference. But...you took everything in stride today, and you're not afraid to say no to me. As far as companions go, those are important qualities. I've done some things recently I've since come to regret, and if I'd had someone like you with me, maybe I wouldn't have acted so rashly."

Emma knows she should be more concerned with the implications of the last sentence, but it's a single word that makes her lift an eyebrow. "Companions?"

"I've had people travel with me before." The Doctor gets a key out of her jacket and puts it into the door. "People who help me keep perspective, who help me save worlds. People like you. Does that sound like something you'd be interested in?"

"Hell yeah," Emma says, grinning, only for her heart to fall a moment later. "Wait, but I can't just run off to space, my classes-"

The Doctor chuckles. It's a good look on her. "It's a time machine too. I can have you back for five minutes from now."

Emma can't help but be sceptical of that part. "Seriously? A time machine?"

"I'm a Time Lady, from a planet called Gallifrey," the Doctor says haughtily, "Time travel is my birthright. Now, are you coming, or not? One time offer."

"If you're serious about the time machine, then yeah, I'm coming," Emma tells her, "I've always wanted to meet Elizabeth Hamilton. Could we do that?"

"Maybe," the Doctor says as she pushes the door open and gestures for Emma to go inside, "If you don't drive me to insanity within the first week, which is a fairly small possibility."

Emma laughs and is about to reply with some smartass comment when she steps inside the box and met with the sight of the huge room inside. It's like a Victorian library, but with a set of hexagonal controls that are framed from above by black wire that rises from the floor in four places and twists like tree branches.

"But that's - it's - it's bigger on the inside," Emma breathes.

"Your skills of observation are truly astounding, Miss Swan," the Doctor says wryly as she moves to the controls.

Emma ignores that and follows her, taking her time because she's still busy gaping at the beautiful room. The mix of the old bookshelves and decor along with the alien technology speaks volumes about the Doctor as a person. _Time Lady, she said. It's fitting._

"It's amazing."

"It's called the TARDIS," the Doctor explains, spreading her hands to gesture to the room around them, "Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. It makes every other spaceship or time machine in the universe look like a child's toy. It's portable, near instantaneous, and nothing can get through those doors if I don't want them to."

"Not even an angry landlord?"

"Not even a platoon of Judoon, or a Sontaran squadron."

"I mean, I don't know what those are, but I get the point. Indestructible. Nice one."

The Doctor nods and lifts her eyes to meet Emma's, smiling properly for the first time. "So, Miss Swan, all of time and space, anything that ever happened or ever will, _anywhere_...where do you want to start?"

It's an impossible question, and Emma's rumbling stomach distracts her. "Where in the universe does the best grilled cheese? I'm starving."

The Doctor looks absolutely horrified. "I offer you the whole of the fourth and fifth dimensions, and you're thinking about grilled cheese?!"

"I'm hungry!"

"Oh, I'm going to _regret_ this. You know what? We're not doing anything until we've both gotten Slitheen out of our hair. I'll show you where a bathroom and the wardrobe is. Come on."

* * *

 **This was so much fun to write. I hope you guys liked it, let me know what you thought!**

 **-MayFairy :)**


End file.
